


"Reassurance"

by Valeria2067



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-22
Updated: 2012-05-22
Packaged: 2017-11-05 19:30:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/410182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Valeria2067/pseuds/Valeria2067
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John is hurt, Sherlock is beside himself, and young Hamish doesn't know what to make of it all. Thank Heaven for Uncle Mycroft.</p>
            </blockquote>





	"Reassurance"

“Uncle Mycroft, is Daddy going to be all right?”

Two large, scared, blue eyes searched Mycroft’s. They were looking for reassurance (and no doubt checking for any hint of insincerity).

At the opposite end of the room, Sherlock continued to pace frantically, unable to focus on anything other than his own anxiety and frustration.

“He will be fine, Hamish. Your ‘Daddy’ is a healthy man for his age, and the bullet did not injure any of his vital organs. He did sustain a serious blow to the head when he fell, however, and that is why the doctors are concerned right now.”  

Without warning, Sherlock stepped over the small side table and stood directly in front of his seated brother. “Tell your people to make those …incompetent morons… in there speed this up, Mycroft. How long is a simple scan like this expected to take? I could have had the results myself twenty minutes ago at the outside.”

Mycroft took out his pocket watch and glanced at the dial - a completely unnecessary action, given his nearly-perfect sense of time. “John has been in the room for less than half an hour, Sherlock. The equipment has barely had time to capture an image. Sit down. You could learn a bit of patience from your five-year-old son.”

“Don’t be frightened, Father,” Hamish added, taking Sherlock’s hand. “Uncle Mycroft says it will be okay.”

Sherlock squeezed his son’s hand but did not look at him. “Despite what your uncle would have you believe, Hamish, he is neither a medical doctor nor God. He knows no more than we do about whether—”

“Mister Holmes?”

The voice came from a timid nurse - early thirties, recently moved into a nearby flat after breaking up with her partner of five… no…. six years, Mycroft noted.

“He’s asking to see you, Mister Holmes.”

A tall, muscular orderly stepped out from the doorway and managed to catch Sherlock squarely in the chest before he could pass.

“Sorry, he’s not asking for you, sir. He’s asking for the other Mister Holmes. Mr. Mycroft Holmes. He was quite insistent, sir.”

Mycroft raised one eyebrow, then he stood up and proceeded to the door. “I shant be a moment. In the meantime, look after your son, Sherlock. He is only a child, and I daresay he’s frightened.”

Rather than wait for a response, Mycroft looked at the young nurse and inclined his  head in his nephew’s direction. She quickly nodded and went over to sit next to the wide-eyed little boy.

***

John opened his eyes as soon as Mycroft drew close to the bedside. “Mycroft. Thanks. I need you to… I need a favour.”

“Of course John. How may I be of help?”

John’s eyes flitted from Mycroft to the door and then back again. He swallowed, and set his jaw. “I want you to take Hal home with you tonight.  I don’t want him around Sherlock…like this.”

It took Mycroft a few seconds to assess the benefits and risks of the proposal. In the end, he had to admire John’s perceptiveness.

“As you wish, John. I’ll have my staff ready one of the guest rooms. Shall I tell my brother, or,—”

John closed his eyes. “No, I’ll do it. You should probably take Hal away as soon as you send Sherlock in here. Less chance of a tantrum, yeah?”

“And just which of them do you fear might throw the tantrum?”

John smiled. “You know which. Send him in? And tell Hal his Dad loves him, Okay? I don’t want him to see me this banged up just now.”

Mycroft nodded. “I’ll be in touch tomorrow morning, then. Do try to rest.”

He stepped quickly to the side as he reached the door and Sherlock barreled into the room.

***

Two hours later, Mycroft stood in the doorway of one of his many well-appointed guest rooms. 

“I trust you are comfortable, Hamish.”

Hamish nodded but did not smile.

Mycroft furrowed his brows. “Could I have something brought to you?” 

“No, thank you, but…but…Would you read me a story Uncle Mycroft? Daddy always reads me stories. Father does, too, sometimes.”

“Does he?”

“Yes, and it helps me sleep, and… well,… I really miss them both right now. A lot.”

For a moment, Mycroft saw a different dark-haired little boy, alone in a big bed, confused and afraid.  If only that other one had been given the chance to grow up a bit more slowly. If only he’d had the benefit of two loving and (usually) attentive parents. What might have gone differently for him? For the both of them.

He moved to the bed and sat down gently. Hamish scooted up to a half-sitting position and leaned against his uncle’s side. Without even thinking about it, Mycroft wrapped his arm aound his nephew and held him close.

“What if I were to tell you a story instead of read one. Would that suit you?”

“Mmm-hmm.” Hamish was warm and comforting against him. He remembered this feeling. It had lasted far too short a time with Sherlock. Family upheaval, old-fashioned sibling rivalry, ambition, so many other things had gotten in the way.

Perhaps this precious child was offering him the chance to make up for that, now.

Mycroft brought his hand up and stroked the soft, dark curls.

“The story I shall tell you is about a young boy, nearly your age, and very much like you, in fact. He was an extremely clever and insightful boy. His parents and teachers told him he could grow up to have any number of impressive careers. But do you know what?”

“What, Uncle?”

He leaned closer and whispered playfully in Hamish’s ear.

“All this little boy wanted to be… was a pirate.”


End file.
